The hacking, slashings, stabbings, and murder never stopped. Every time your body was pierced with those hooks or killed by the killer's hand; you prayed to whatever deity existed to put you out of your misery for good. But alas, you always wake up back at the campfire.Â
You were unwillingly taken by the Entity; taken into a realm of endless pain and suffering and stuck in sick games of nothing but pure torment. You dreaded going back to that campfire. It never led to anything new. You never came to terms that this was your new life, and you were never going to see your home again.
You could hardly close your eyes to rest without visions of murder entering your mind or the paranoiac-piercing screams messing with your eardrums. Streaks of your hair were becoming white from the great amounts of trauma, and bags under your eyes took effect from the lack of sleep.
The other survivors you've met had been here longer than you, but they never grew used to it, either. You never truly wanted to die so badly till now.
But then something happened during the times you served your trials.
Your chest grew heavy when there were no sounds of generators being repaired, or a teammate calling out in need of assistance. The air was silent and heavy as you explored the trial. The clicking of your footsteps only gave sound to the dead air. Fog entangled your legs with a step towards a sign of any life within the trial. In the midst of the fog, a silhouette laying on the ground could be faintly seen from a distance. As you approach further, you realize it was one of your teammates with their neck torn open. A small pool of blood lays underneath your dead teammate and soaked into their clothing. Upon further examining the body, the hole in their neck looked as if an animal had done it. Their eyes remained open; a hint of expression of fear remained on their face. It was almost as if they were begging you for help.
Quickly and quietly your teammates were being killed without you realizing. Was it just them or all the others?
"I apologize for leaving a mess for you to see. It wasn't very chivalrous of me." A deep voice startles you from behind causing you to whip your head around to see a rather tall man.
The Dark Lord, or Dracula that some of your fellow survivors refer to him as. Word of mouth went around the campfire that he was a vampire. He held no mercy for anyone who had a beating heart. Except for you. The first impression wasn't the best. You found him towering over you as you cowered beneath after watching him toss your teammate's dead body to the side after draining every drop of blood from them.Â
For the longest time, he's felt his dead heartstrings being pulled. He wasn't sure what caused him to feel this way. Maybe if he was not feasting on your dead teammate, he would have looked less frightening.
He's grown obsessed with you since the day he spared you.
He takes his time walking up to you, wiping the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand in the process. "I was afraid I wasn't going to see you again." His hand reaches for your face with a clawed thumb to wipe a streak of blood splattered on your cheek from healing a teammate earlier.
"Is there ever a time you haven't?"
He smiles at your response. "Not quite. But it has been lonely these past several trials without seeing your face."
Every time you entered his realm, Dracula always saved you for last. Killing off your teammates as fast as possible then finding you. He couldn't have any of your teammates spoiling anything between the two of you. After killing off your teammates, he would take his precious time stalking you from a distance in his wolf form. His dead heart always skipped a beat whenever he found you wandering alone with no one to get in his way.
"I can tell."Â
His fingers feather down to your arm until stopping when he notices discoloration on your skin. He pulls your wrist towards him examining a red swollen area with scrapes. The color was slowly bruising into a purplish red. His thumb gently glazes over the scratches allowing his cold touch to calm down the swelling for a bit finally.
"It's nothing. I fell." You reassure.
"My dear, you should be more careful. I'd hate for something so delicate to get into harm's reach."
"If I had a flashlight that lasted longer than ten seconds, I would have been able to see."
"Rather than relying on something so worthless, you should find something that'll do you good."
"Is that your way of saying I want to spend more time with you?"
"Of course. I enjoy indulging in conversations with you." He leans into your face, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Not only that, but I also enjoy feeling your warm skin under my hands and hearing the rhythmic pulse underneath your skin." His warm metallic breath hits your face. "It's so rapturous. Wouldn't you agree my dear?"
"I suppose it's better than death."Â You wince.
It took some time to warm up to him.
The Entity eventually notices the strange behavior of Dracula. He was unable to fulfill his duty because of you. No matter how much the Entity craved and demanded the survivor's flesh and blood he couldn't do it. He could never conjure enough courage to sacrifice you. It decided to remove you from the trials that involved him for it to be satisfied with its sacrifices. He grew angry upon hearing the news, but the Entity didn't care. If it wanted sacrifices, it was going to make sure it got what it wanted.
Now he finds himself in his castle away from the other killersâsitting alone in his throne room staring off into the distance, sulking in his thoughts. He had no regret being taken into the Entity's realm at first; it felt like paradise, but now he's beginning to have second thoughts. He grew madly in love with you that's why. He wanted to take you away from a place that's done you no good. He wanted to spend an eternity with you. If only he could.
Quiet clicking sounds from a distance pull him from his thoughts. He turned his head to where the sound was coming from and there you were just a few feet from where he sat.
If only he saw how his face beamed at the sight of seeing you again. He rushes to you. "I'd never thought I would ever see you again." His clawed fingers stretched outward feeling your hair as his thumbs stroked your cheeks; feeling the warmth that once sought comfort to him "I pray your suffering has not been too utmost for how long I've been away from you."
"Nothing has changed. I hate it so much."
"I'm sorry how things have-"
"I missed you. So. Much." Your voice cracks upon interrupting. He stares down at you as you try to keep your composure. You look away from him to hide your frustrated tears. "I wish I didn't have to go back."
"Please don't grieve." He lifts your face. "No matter what happens, I will always be here waiting for you. And one day there will be no more suffering. I promise you."
Despite you suffering eternal damnation in the Entity's realm; to Dracula, in a certain way he has gotten the happy ending.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Summary: Recently The Entity got bored and decided to push both sides to celebrate Valentineâs Day by literally throwing it into your faces. (Un)lucky for you, The Shape is your Valentine.
Warnings: explicit, f/m, smut, p in v, reader has vagina, hair pulling, use of knife, semi non-consensual drug use, cock warning, reader is needy, Michael stinks
Right from the very beginning, when you appeared at the Trial together with the other Survivors, you noticed that everything around you looked⌠different. The fog surrounding you was tinged with shades of pink, flowers had appeared everywhere, and here and there stood lit candles. In various corners, you even spotted small tables set with tableware and bottles of wine.
You looked around in search of the others, but apparently the Entity had decided to scatter you across different parts of the map. You approached a nearby little table and took a bottle of wine in your hand, reading the label.
âRed wine? Seriously?â you muttered, setting the bottle down before turning on your heel and heading off in search of a generator. Maybe youâd find the others along the way, and you could talk over the state of this place. As you looked around, you noticed a tiny patch of flowers by the trees, and among them stood a generator. You quietly approached it and started repairing it, glancing around. You still hadnât heard any screams from your teammates or the beep of a repaired generator, so you started to suspect that either the Killer was feeling lazy today, or that it was a stealthy one.
When you were close to finishing the repair, you heard heavy breathing behind you. Goosebumps ran down your back as you slowly put the pieces together, realizing who might be standing behind you. You felt a strong grip on your shoulder, and when you raised your head to look behind you, the rose that was right in front of your face, and which you hadnât noticed, opened its petals wider and blasted some kind of pollen into your face. Suddenly, your eyes started to burn and your throat began to itch, while the sweet, heavy scent made it difficult to breathe.
The hand on your shoulder quickly withdrew, and you heard a loud gasp behind you. Despite the daze that had come over you, you sprang to your feet and started running blindly. You looked back, opening your eyes slightly, wanting to see if you could identify the Killer. Tears blurred your vision, but even so, you could make out a tall figure and a white mask. Myers stood by the generator you had just fled from, wiping the pollen off his mask and trying to rub his eyes. Apparently, he had been hit by it too, which made you happy, because it gave you a chance to escape.
Once you had gotten a safe distance away, you curled up between some crates to catch your breath and wipe the pollen off yourself. The Entity had apparently gotten bored with how things usually went (simple killing) and decided to have some fun with Valentineâs Day, which was also quite literally blowing up in your faces. You coughed, trying to get the pollen out of the back of your throat, feeling it still scratching at it. All of this made you feel hot, and with your difficulty breathing, your clothes started to feel suddenly tight. You took off your hoodie, trying to get rid of the heat, and tied the sleeves around your waist, deciding that it wasnât helping much. You took a few more deep breaths, fighting the urge to cough, and left your hiding spot to find the others.
As time went on, you started feeling worse. Sweat appeared on the back of your neck, your lower abdomen tightened uncomfortably, and you could feel heat and tingling between your legs. You were simply aroused, which was effectively ruining your attempts to repair the last generator. In the background, you could hear David running from the Killer, shouting into the open space for you to hurry up. The only answer to his calls was another generator explosion. Right after that, you heard him scream in pain, probably being killed by Michael.
You stepped away from the generator and made your way along the wall of the shack, trying to focus on listening to the sounds of the night. You hoped the hatch had appeared somewhere nearby, which would practically be a gift from fate, because you were literally struggling to stay on your feet in the state you were currently in. You pulled down the collar of your T-shirt, trying to steady your breathing.
And then you saw it. In the middle of the map was an open hatch, with pink fog spilling out of it. You breathed a sigh of relief and rushed toward it, mentally patting yourself on the back. Throughout the entire Trial, you had managed to avoid the Killer, partly because you could barely move, and partly because of the fear you felt toward Myers. The man had always terrified you, not only because he was a fucking tank, but also because of the way he was. He stood, watched, and murdered in cold blood, often more for himself than for the Entity.
Just as you were about to jump into the hatch, a strong arm grabbed you around the waist and pulled you away from the exit. You cried out in surprise, watching as the hatch was slammed shut with a single kick. You began struggling, regretting that you hadnât brought any weapon with you that could have helped you break free from his grip. You held your breath after catching the smell of old blood, sweat, and God knows what else.
When Michael grabbed you by the neck, turning you to face him, a quiet moan escaped your lips. Both of you froze at the unexpected sound. Your neck had always been a sensitive spot, and because of the arousal you were currently feeling, the sensation was doubled. You looked at him, gripping his wrist with both hands. His bright blue eyes stared at you, one hidden behind a milky barrier, probably from some kind of injury, while the other had a pupil dilated to its absolute limit. He must have been feeling the effects of the pollen too, you thought, hearing how heavily he was breathing.
Suddenly, the world spun, and you were thrown onto the flower-covered ground, a heavy groan escaping you. For a moment, you couldnât catch your breath after your back hit the ground, but you quickly rolled onto your stomach and pushed yourself up, trying to get away from the Killer. Without success, because long fingers clamped around your arm like a vise, and you were thrown back onto the ground. You landed face-first in the flowers, causing even more pollen to get into your nose.
You tried to rise, but those same fingers gripped your hair and forced your face into the dirt, making escape impossible. You felt Michael settle over you, his long legs coming down on either side of your thighs, caging you in. Suddenly he pulled your hair hard, lifting your head, which drew another moan from youâyou yourself no longer knew whether from pleasure or pain. Something about this behavior pleased you, but you blamed it on the flowers
You heard heavy, rapid breathing at your ear, which sent shivers down your spine. You didn't know what to think about any of this. Normally it would all be over by now; you'd already be limping back to the campfire after he stuck his knife in you. But now it was different. Decidedly different, because never before, up until this moment, had you felt his erection against your ass.
"M-MichaelâŚ" you whimpered, not knowing exactly what you wanted to say. Your voice was hoarse.
Your hair was yanked again, drawing another moan from you. Suddenly a knife appeared in your field of vision, only to be plunged into the ground right after, and then you were flipped onto your back. The man above you effectively blocked out the dark sky with his broad shoulders, settling himself between your legs. The hand that had been gripping your hair moments ago now closed around your throat. You moved beneath him, rubbing your thigh against his groin.
He stilled, but the pressure on your throat didn't ease one bit. For several seconds you stared into each other's eyes. Michael's darting gaze kept flickering from your face to your body and back, as if he didn't know what was happening. From what Laurie had told you by the campfire, Michael had spent most of his life in a psychiatric hospital. There was a high probability that he didn't fully know how to deal with the side effect of the pollen.
With his free hand, he traced along your stomach toward your chest, only to hesitate for a moment at the end. You bit your lower lip, feeling the ache between your legs grow even stronger, almost unbearable. Did you want this? Not reallyâMichael was a brutal murderer, and not one for hygiene on top of that. Were you currently listening to your reason? Not in the slightest. Arousal had taken over, clouding your mind in a fog, probably a pink one.
A strong hand closed around your breast, a little too hard. You moaned, partly from pain, partly from pleasure, but loud enough that it certainly didn't escape Michael's attention. He looked at you, tilting his head to the side. Your face turned furiously red. You probably looked pathetic right nowâall flushed, moaning beneath him.
His hand moved higher, grabbing your collar and with a sudden, forceful motion ripped the t-shirt, baring your breasts. You cried out at the sudden chill, which was immediately replaced by the warmth of a large, calloused hand. Added to that was a single, grinding thrust of his hips, his erection pressed against your crotch, which made your eyes roll back.
That single movement made Michael suck in air loudly. After a moment, however, he continued with slow movements of his hips, as if discovering new sensations. You, in turn, began moaning more and more frequently from pleasure, ignoring the feeling of shame that had appeared in your mind.
After a few moments, the feeling between your legs became unbearable. It seemed the killer felt discomfort too, because he stopped to grab your pants. He tried to aggressively unbutton them, but with his hand still clamped around your throat, it was no easy feat. You raised your hands to help him when suddenly he let go of the clothing to reach for the knife stuck in the ground by your head, wrenching it from the earth to then slice your pants along the inner thigh. The knife was plunged back into the ground, and Michael grabbed the slit material and pulled, tearing the fabric. A feeling of cold struck your wet crotch, your panties completely soaked, which without a moment's delay were also ripped apart. You gasped, suddenly feeling shy under his heavy gaze.
Michael looked down between your legs, still pressing you to the ground with his hand on your throat, fortunately easing the pressure slightly. With his free hand, he traced along your wet folds, as if familiarizing himself with the sight. Was this his first time seeing a (nearly) naked woman? Perhaps. He toyed with you, sliding and pressing with his fingers, until finally you clamped your legs around his hips from the slowly building tension in your lower abdomen. He jerked his head up and looked at your face.
"Michael⌠I need you inside me," you said quietly on an exhale, feeling your cheeks grow even redder.
Michael looked as if he were debating with himself for a moment about what to do, until finally he removed his hands from you and reached for the zipper of his coveralls. With one tug, he unzipped it, slightly damaging it. Underneath he had a black t-shirt that was stretched tight across his torso, apparently the wrong size.
He reached down into his boxers to pull out his cock, which made you pause for a moment. True, Michael was built like a tankâtall, massiveâbut somehow it had never occurred to you that his member could be like that too. You hesitated, looking at it.
"M-Michael, I think it's tooâ Ah!" you moaned mid-sentence when he ignored you and slid his cock along your wet crotch. Apparently he didn't care whether you'd be able to take him at all, because soon you felt him trying to push the tip inside, pressing against your entrance. "WaitâŚ!"
But Michael had no intention of waiting, nor of stopping. He began pressing against your entrance, forcing his way inside you. It hurt, which you made perfectly clear to him, but apparently your screams went in one ear and out the other.
You grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, digging your nails into the coveralls. Michael kept going until he was fully inside you. He paused, as if trying to get used to the new sensation. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to relax to get rid of the pain.
After a while, he started moving his hips back and forth, drawing more moans from you, which slowly turned into moans of pleasure. The hand that had been clamped around your throat returned to its place, once again restricting your ability to breathe. Fortunately, it wasn't strong enough to make you lose consciousness.
The thrusts, which had been slow at first, gradually became faster, more brutal, accompanied by quiet grunts from beneath the mask. Michael grabbed you under the knee, lifting your leg up and pressing it against your chest for better leverage. Because of this movement, his cock drove deeper into you, which brought tears streaming down your face from pleasure.
Over time, your eyes began rolling back into your skull, and your moans became shorter but more intense. You could feel that the tension which had been building throughout the Trial was about to find its release. Michael apparently was also close to orgasm, because he leaned further toward you, brushing his mask's cheek against yours.
Ragged breathing, quiet grunting, and the pressure on your clit made you let out a loud, long moan, grabbing his hair with your hand. Your legs clamped tighter around his hips, pulling him against you, as if you were afraid he would pull away before your orgasm finished.
But Michael had no intention of pulling out of you, because the moment you tightened around him, he came too, freezing in place, pressing himself against you. His breath trembled, as did his shoulders, and his body slowly began pinning you to the ground with its weight. You lay motionless for a while, breathing loudly, until you patted him on the shoulder.
"Michael, you're too heavyâŚ" you said quietly, hoping he would get off you. It wasn't his hand depriving you of breathâit was his body, which probably weighed a ton, plus his smell mixing with the sweet scent of the flowers, which irritated your nose even more.
After a moment, Michael got up and pulled out of you, causing all the cum to slowly start leaking out of your pussy. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him fasten his coveralls. You looked at your clothes and swallowed loudly. Maybe the arousal had subsided, but you looked like a complete wreck. Your t-shirt and pants were torn, exposing everything. You just hoped no one would be waiting for you at the campfire.
The killer grabbed your arm and pulled you up, setting you on your feet, which buckled under you. If he hadn't been holding you, you would have collapsed to the ground. And that would have resulted in staying there until you recovered. Michael, however, wanted to get rid of you as quickly as possible, because he dragged your stumbling form to the gate, opened it, and then shoved you through. You didn't complain. He probably didn't fully understand what had just happened and wanted to think it over alone. You yourself felt confused after all of this too.
The upside of this encounter was that in subsequent Trials, you had the possibility of escaping through the hatch, or an open gate awaited you. Well, unless Michael was waiting for you at one of those placesâthen your exit was delayed.
âfuck we should really stop meeting up like this.â chris lowly hissed, his eyes closing in pleasure as you ran your fresh manicure hand across his length. you shifted closer in between his legs, squeezing his balls as you coated your cheeks with his pre cum, looking up at him with wide diluted eyes.
you hummed softly as you pressed his cock against your glossy lips, smearing more of his pre cum and savouring his saltiness, rubbing his dick across your closed lips, building friction as he groans, leaning his head back. a small smile playing on your face from his reaction. you knew exactly how to please him, how he liked to have his dick sucked and how much he trembles by the slightest touch of your hands on him.
you gave his mushroom head kitten licks, feeling his cock twitch from the sensation as you continued to run your hands up and down against his shaft exactly how he likes, earning yourself grunts of bliss from him. with every round of your hands, you squeezed his tip, making more and more of his cum leak out of his slit, as you continued licking up his juices, milking him as much as possible. satisfied, you curled your lips around his length, bobbing your head messily as you sucked him off, your tongue wildly lapping all over his girth.
"fuckk, you are amazing.â he weakly grunted, grabbing the back of your head and forcing it down his length, as your hands found their way to rest on his hairy stomach, causing you to instantly gag as his tip kissed the back of your throat. chris knows thatâs exactly how you like it, feeling the way his tip bullies you.
tears welled in your eyes as your nose was shoved into the tuffs of his pubes as he repeatedly thrusted your head down his length, balls slapping against your face, leaving you only able to whimper helplessly around him.
you tapped on his stomach and he drew back slowly, cradling your warm face in both palms as he brushed his thumbs over your lips, wiping away the mixture of drool and him, letting you close your eyes and catch your breath as the burn at the back of your throat pulsed. when you met his gaze and gave him a small nod, he guided you back slowly down his length, watching the way your neck imprinted his dick as he pushed further down your throat. he continued this cycle, fucking your face before giving you time to breathe as he reached closer to his pleasure.
âinside as usual? â chris panted, coming close to his release as you nodded, looking up to him with hazy eyes. you hallowed your cheeks as your tongue swept faster around him, his cock twitching as you worked him up. before long, the familiar warm spurts land inside your mouth, coating your tongue semi white as you swallow every little bit of his release.
as soon as you sensed his warmth fade, you withdrew with a wet pop, using the back of your hand to wipe your lips while embracing his calf like a kitten, gazing up at him in admiration as you gasped for air.
he lifted you from the floor to his lap, positioning your legs over his thighs as he ran his fingers through your hair and wiped your cheeks, comforting you the way he knew you loved.
he pulled a cigarette from the table drawer and lit it, taking a slow drag before passing it to you between his fingers. you accepted it with a small smile, taking a drag before handing it back, his arms then snaking around your plush stomach as he settled you comfortably against him, you pepping the side of his neck with wet kisses.
âyouâre taking them to their friend's birthday party tomorrow. â you mumble hoarsely, throat still burning from his member as you nuzzle into his chest, taking another drag out of the cigarette.
âwho?â he asks, genuinely confused, still high from his pleasure.
you pull back, smacking his chest with an unimpressed look. âwhat do you mean, who? our children chris.â
âoh shit. yeah of course.â his eyes widen, looking almost embarrassed that heâd forgotten.
âthe gifts are already packed, the party starts at eleven so make sure you pick them up on time.â
âokay, iâll keep them over the weekend, Iâm not working. you go and enjoy yourself sweetheart.â you hum in response as he kisses the top of your head, feeling butterflies in your stomach from the petname.
because even after everything he still has that effect on you. he knows you love pet names, heck when you two were married he never used to say your name. it was always sweetheart, darling, my love. youâd be lying to yourself if you didn't admit how much you missed those words from your husband.
you spent years assuring yourselves that being separated was for the best. that the divorce had been necessary for both of you. that whatever had existed between you had run its course and there was no spark left.
at first it felt like the right decision, you even moved on and found someone else, tried to fall in love again, tried to get the same giddy feeling you once had but it wasnât long until you realised he wasnât chris. and you hated yourself for comparing him to your ex husband.
then months later you accidentally saw chris with another woman, her beaming up to him with the same look you used to have, thatâs when you felt you had been shot in the chest. he too ended the relationship quickly once he realised she wasnât you.
after that, you both stayed single, still in each otherâs lives but distant. for a while, you told yourself it was because of the kids. only discussing whatever the children needed, but slowly your anger became softer, conversations became longer until if you had a problem he would be the first one you would call and he would pick up instantly, no matter where in the world he was.
you both never spoke about it but deep down you both knew the divorce may have ended the marriage but the bond and love between you two never went away. it was just buried under all the frustration and miss communication that you two never quite figured out. but you were too ashamed to tell him you made a mistake. that you should never have asked him for a divorce. because even after all this time, your heart still belonged to him. and his heart belonged to you.
and thatâs why each time you would always end up in his lap and in his arms.
your fingers trace little shapes along his face, as you stare up at the man you spent madly in love with, the goofy idiot who wouldnât stop staring at you in the coffee shop you worked at, all those years ago when he was in S.T.A.R.S to the man he is now, face etched with age and scars.
chris raises a brow, clearly amused by the faraway look in your eyes. you shake your head, refusing to answer, before going back to cuddling on his chest as he grips his hold on you tighter like he already knows what you are thinking, kissing the top of your head and resting his chin there.
his hand gradually moved to your damp clothed cunt, pinching it firmly as you gasp, knowing exactly what was coming next. I mean how could you not? you were married to this man for over 8 years. you rolled your eyes at him, hopping off his lap and laying on your back in his bed exactly how he likes you to be.
he smirks, taking one last drag before stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray and settling between your legs, pulling down your lacy underwear that you definitely did not purposely wear for him.
âshould never have agreed with you to sign those divorce papers. â he mumbles, licking his lips as he admires your pussy. you roll your eyes again, kicking his stomach with your feet and throwing his pillow at him as he laughs deeply, causing you to break out into chuckles yourself
âdonât startâ you warn, raising your eyebrows at him. he chuckles, leaning down on you and kissing your lips as you moan into his mouth, his hands find your perky nip, putting it between his fingers and rolling, exactly how it pleases you
âthe school bus is dropping them in half an hour.â you whimper looking at the wall clock, arching your back as he flicks your buds with his fingers before sucking on them. your hands instantly tugs on his short hair as he laps around your buds with his tongue.
âi-im taking them to the cinema so we will fuckk we will leave quickly from here.â he nods understandably. the school bus drops the kids near chrisâs apartment, so they always come to his place and whenever itâs your turn, you always pick them up from here.
âmore than enough time sweetheart. he winks, âhow many times do you think she can do? threeâŚfour?âŚmaybe five?â he smirks cockily, lightly slapping your pussy, making your area tingle as you clench around nothing. his not so funny remark ends up with him getting another kick to the stomach with your foot and a pillow being smacked across his face again.
thatâs definitely not the way divorced exes are supposed to act⌠right?
this is part 1 of my 200+ follower special next one is a leon fic, thank you all for being patient with me đŤś
I hope you enjoyed I tried to mix smut, fluff, angst all in one đ¤
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
older .á leon kennedy is as desperate as a man can be for the taste of his much younger wifeâs soft pussy. heâs truly weak in the knees and desperate to get his tongue coated in your sweet dripping juices. once his handsome face, with his graying stubble tingling your thighs (which youâve grown fond of) is buried fully in you, beautifully and perfectly unshaved, naked, leonâs bulging cock throbs painfully in his pants, impatiently turned on.
he loves your pussy and he loves to eat it out loud, grunting and moaning as if youâre his first meal of the day. on his knees too, right where he wants to be the most; in his place of worship and sacred haven, between your thighs, in the living room, drunk on his cute wifeâs pussy, at two in the morning. heâs safe from harm. when leon gets a taste of it, he turns into a depraved man. a filthy animal who wants to worship and drown in sweetness, back to his instincts.
leon gets an irresistible urge to seek release immediately. to pull down his pants and spit in the palm of his hand. to grab his length in a tight grip and fuck himself with his sticky wet fist and tongue squeezed inside your walls. he slurps your pretty cunt out of every ounce of juice, sucking on the soft lips of your cunt, and he spoils your needy little clit, so sensitive and swollen.
thereâs so much depravity. a man nearing fifty years old, gone through the hardships of life, kneeling down his younger wife, his princess, his sweet girl, with your squirt dripping down his chinâ that rough fist of his, still around his cock, coated in your pussy juices and his spit rubbed even down his balls. it hurts like hell to be so turned on from feeling the softness of your pussy lips inside his mouth. thereâs no other way to lube himself up, without having the head of his cock coated in your sweetness. heâs always been the type of man to please and cum a handful from giving.
he's just lying there, mouth open, eyes so wide they look glassy. not moving. not breathing right. his hands hover over your hips like he's scared to touch you.
you're the hottest thing he's ever seen and he's afraid he would burn if he touch you.
you roll your hips down slow, and the only sound in the room is his shaky little exhale and your voice. he's so quiet. no dirty talk, no growling. just these soft, punched out moans every time you sink onto him.
"youâahhâokay baby?" you ask.
he nods all dumb, lips parted, eyes locked on where your bodies meet, then back up to your tits and face. his mouth moves but nothing comes out. then you clench around him, just a little, and his whole body jerks. his eyes roll back and he's cumming with this broken, high pitched whimper.
you're just too beautiful and he's too in love to hold it.
"ahhh fuckâ" he gasps, face red, hands finally gripping your waist. "prettyây-you're so prettyâ"
he's trying. he really is.
so just smile down at him and run your fingers through his hair. tell him he did good. he'll blink up at you all teary, still hard somehow, and whisper that he loves you.
he loves you more than anything.
masterlist.
Š pluvial-lake 2026 : do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
in which you let frank carve his name into your skin (:
crossposted on my ao3
tags: pwp (porn with plot), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, scarification, mentions of self harm and assisted self harm, consensual but not safe or sane, blood licking/drinking, knives, cutting and carving as foreplay, this one's purely self-indulgence and i haven't written fanfic in two years.
Your senses were both dulled and heightened from cheap beer and cigarettes. It's what Frank tastes like and what you tase like. Neither of you could get enough.
One moment the two of you were lazing around, watching a slasherâone of the Halloween movies, you think. There were too many to remember. In the next, Frank was pulling you onto his lap, having you straddle his thighs while you smiled and gave in, reciprocating his actions by cupping his jaw and kissing him back.
It was a familiar scene, really. Frank couldn't ever keep his hands off you. Always had to have an arm around your shoulders, a hand in yours, or bumping shoulders walking down the street. He could say he wasn't a sap or your "typical" boyfriend (which was very true), but you knew better.
You sighed into the kiss, adjusting and digging your knees deeper into the scratchy tweed cushions. The screams of terror and squelch of flesh and viscera became muffled in your ears. When Frank had you like this, everything else ceased to exist. Your hands travelled lower, kneading softly Frank's shoulders. You felt a hand of his come up, dragging blunt fingertips along your scalp before firmly gripping a handful of locks. Moaning against his lips, you pressed your hips down against his lap, seeking friction. Frank rested his hands on your hips and thighs, rubbing his thumbs over the raised scars littering your soft flesh. You never questioned his infatuation with your scars, in fact you appreciated the new memories associated with them. That and the warm, queasy feeling in your chest from his toxic encouragementâsometimes adding a few of his own. But at the end of the day, you were a sucker for this shit and Frank was more than happy to bring down his knife unto your skin. He's done it a few times before, cutting across your flesh balls-deep in you. More often than not you came from the aching stings, white hot pain blooming from either your thighs or navel, clenching hard on his throbbing cock. You two were a lovingly twisted match made in Hell.
The kiss broke, your lips parted for air. Frank nudged your nose with his, sitting up a bit and pressing his front impossibly closer to yours.
"Babe- Baby," He murmured, running his hands up to your waist, slipping under your shirt, "Can I try something?"
You relaxed in your seat, his lap, posture lax while your fingers occupied themselves by tracing the tendons of his neck. You hummed and nodded, "What is it?"
There was a glint of this uncharacteristic hesitancy on Frank's face. You tilted your head, tucking some hair behind your ear. He opens kiss-swollen lips to say something, but the words tumble out broken before he could string them together.
"So. I've been thinking." He cleared his throat, the tattoo on his neck contorted with his bobbing adam's apple.
"You know I love cutting you up, right?" Frank's voice went lower, hoarser. You nodded again.
"Well I wanna take it to another level... Wanna put my name on you."
Your interest was piqued right away. The idea of being permanently marked by Frank in that way you love so much. To Frank, it was as if your eyes sparkled. He chuckled, already knowing your answer. His hands ran up and down your waist, to your back and belly, as if looking for a spot already.
He gave a toothy grin, smirking up at you, "Yeah? You like the sound of that huh?"
A small amused scoff leaves your lips, "Obviously." You murmured, leaning down to kiss him again. Frank met your enthusiasm, shoving his hands higher under your shirt until he had it off of you and on his floor.
"Lie down." He ordered, guiding you off his lap to lie down on the couch. As you got comfortable, you spotted a few dark brown stains left on the cushion from last time. The reminder sent a jolt to your core.
You watched as Frank brandished his pocket knife (you don't bother to ask from where), and climbed atop of you, switching positions and straddling you at your thighs. Your heart picked up, watching with rapt attention the way his fingers wrapped around the handle, tendons of his wrist flexing when he stared down at your exposed body.
"Where do you want it?" Frank asked, voice low with barely concealed excitement.
You thought for a moment, trying to think of a place. You thought of tattoos and scars, branding of soft skin and the memory of Frank's blade drawing blood from your thighs. Hell, you even thought of the concept of a cutiemark being Frank's name is raised scar tissue.
"Um, my tummy or my hip, I guess." You murmur, trying to keep your composure.
You were excited for this. Really excited. Frank and you have indulged in bloody kinks alike, but never ventured into this. Carving his name into your skin was a fantasy come true. You've carried his hickeys and bite marks, clean cuts and bruises-but never his name. You squeaked quietly as Frank settled on your thighs. Like you, Frank was always quick with a blade, making fast swipes in one fluid motion with just the perfect amount of pressure. You'd moan seeing the white of your dermis before seeing crimson fill the crater and flow out. But now, you get to feel and savor the ache and sting of your skin separating under Frank's knife.
"Alright," Frank licked his lips, "This'll be fun, hm?"
You nodded in agreement squirming your hips until Frank places his left hand on you, pinning you down. There's no safeword, though there should be, but a few pained screams and curses would do the job. That is, if Frank was in the mood to stop. Usually he would but there were the few times where he just needed the outlet. He'd cover your mouth and keep going, and the both of you knew deep down you loved it.
You took a deep breath and watched Frank's face. There was a clear look of something lustful and eager, and a glance down would confirm itâa hard on, a tent in the middle of his sweats. Then you felt the tip of his knife dig into your skin on the side of your tummy. You sucked in a breath, letting out muffled whines and gasps. It felt cold and hot all at the same time, feeling the blade drag across your skin. Adrenaline built up surely, your heart raced and you feel a slight tremble in your hands.Â
"Oh, mh- shit..." You whimpered, biting your lip and squeezing your hands into fists. You wouldn't want Frank to mess up, it'd be permanent.
"Shhh... it's okay," The blade lifted up, giving you a second of reprieve before starting on the next letter, "It's okay, see?"
You sniffled and craned your neck upwards to look down on your torso. All you could see was an 'F,' flooding with red and already starting to coagulate. Frank carried on with confidence, slicing the last line of the 'R.' It felt like the blade was an extension of his fingers, tracing his name on your skin. He'd do that with his tongue, spelling each letter of his name on your clit some nights.
"Mhm," You hummed and leaned your head back against the tweed, "Feels good..."
A deep rumble of a chuckle escaped Franks lips, "Yeah? Knew it would..." You whimpered when he pressed deeper, clenching your thighs together.
You took deep breathes between each incision, whimpering as your heart raced and your panties dampened. Quick swipes made the next letter but you couldn't tell which one he was on now, only that the pain felt amazing, every sting, every throb and ache had you wanting more. And you could tell by the dark look in Frank's eyes and the twitching hard-on, he was enjoying this too. For some semblance of relief, you rolled your hips, squeezed your thighs, now breathing heavily. The scent of iron filed your nostrils, overpowering faded cigarette smoke.
"Fuck, that's so hot. M'almost done." You heard him mumble and a pained whimpered slipped past your lips. He made work of your skin and cut quick and deep, practically panting now.
The last letters were carved with enthusiasm and overzealousness. Frank pushed deeper at one point, making you gasp his name and arch your back off the couch, kicking your feet up behind him. He shushed you, grinning sadistically. "It's okay." He'd repeat.
"You just... bleed so pretty. Can't believe we hadn't done this sooner." He moaned.
The bite of pain ached even more and spread across your entire left side. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your bottom lip. You felt his fingers squeeze the fat of your flesh, coaxing more blood to flood out and your moans with it. You decided to peek down and watch the last bit of Frank's indulgence. You whimpered when his fingers swiped up blood, bringing the fluids to his lips and sucking it off. His eyes locked with yours then.
"You want a taste?" Without even responding Frank had already brought blood-covered fingers to your lips. You welcomed them in, sucking and licking the metallic essence off his digits. Frank groaned above you, pupils dilating impossibly more. He kept those digits in, pressing down on your tongue while his knife-wielding hand finished the job. You mewled around Frank's fingers, sucking them with a submissiveness that had him throbbing in his pants.
"Almost done sweets, just... one more thing." He purred and licked his lips. Another sharp drag of the blade curved somewhere in that tender area, making you clench your thighs harder.
"Mh! Frank..." You whined, overwhelmed with arousal and slick, definitely ruined panties.
Frank slipped his fingers from your mouth and swiped them over the sticky, bloody mess, you sucked in a breath as it stung and took another mouthful of your blood from his digits.
"Alright, fuck it, I need to be inside you, now." Frank grunted and his switchblade dropped on the coffee table with a sharp clatter. You whimpered and nodded, already spreading your legs once he was off of you. Your panties and shorts were off in seconds- maybe a new record for you.
You laid there pliant, soft, and bloody and let Frank make the arrangements. You whined and even teared up when he squeezed your gaping cuts, scooping up more blood and smearing it across your damp folds. Frank muttered some praise, something about how pretty you are like this. His cock slipped in with little effort, just a groan and a firm hand each on your hip and carved skin. Your tight walls squeezed around his throbbing shaft with every cruel press on the gashes. A broken sob ripped out of your throat and more blood bubbled around his fingertips, flowing out all sticky and slowly, dripping across your skin.
"Frank- please, please, please!" You begged, not entirely sure for what, but your cunt was soaked, aching in the best way from his harsh thrusts. It was this bloody type of foreplay that had you sensitive to Hell and back.
"I know babe, I know," Frank moaned with you, "M'close, gonna cum inside, alright?" That was a given no matter how many times Frank would 'ask' for permission, or 'warned.'
His hips slammed against yours in tandem with his fingers digging into open wounds. Frank's moans steadily turn into groans and deep grunts, overpowering your pained whines and whimpers. It was the perfect amount of overwhelming though, being pinned and fucked within an inch of your life while the man of your twisted dreams was a practically fingering shallow incisions. You're writhing and gasping for air, nearing your impending orgasm.Â
A bloody thumb to your clit has you seeing starsâyour climax crashed down on you, clenching around Frank's cock and ultimately milking him. Hot ropes of his seed spurt against your cervix, you moan, Frank's hunched over you and rolling his hips, slowing down with his high.
"Fuuuck..." He groans with a crooked grin, grinding his pelvis against your cunt, "You... you good?"
Frank murmured and his hips slowed to a stop, pressing his forehead to your collarbone. He pressed a small kiss onto your heated skin, and you felt his hand rub soothingly over then engraving now. No more Mr. Rough Guy, you suppose. You couldn't stop panting and whimpering, just letting Frank do as he wanted and pull out. You did nod in response, paired with a shaky hum. He moves carefully and confidently, setting your legs down comfortably on the couch.
"Hold on, jus' lemme take care of this..." Frank said and stood up, stretching his arms and then pulling his boxer briefs on. With half-lidded eyes you watched your boyfriend disappear into the bathroom and heard the creaking of the medicine cabinet open and shut.
You laid there all quiet, basking in the afterglow and the dull ache of... everything. Between your legs, your hips, and that burning sensation of your branded skin. You just hoped Frank's roughness wouldn't make the scarring all wonky. Frank soon returned with the makeshift first-aid kit and a wet rag. The kit was an old cookie tin that was stuffed full of band-aids of all sizes, gauzes, and a few packets of alcohol wipes.
"You okay baby?" Frank asked again and sat on the edge of the couch.
"Yeah. I'm okay." You murmured all satisfied and loose-limbed. The sight of you all bloody and with such a love-filled gaze made Frank grin in return.
"Hold on..." You heard him mumble again. You felt dips in the couch when you lower half was jostled around, you could tell Frank was doing something but didn't bother to open your eyes. However, you did hear the click of a camera and saw a bright flash behind your eyelids. You scoffed with a small smile and still didn't move.
He made quick work of the technical aftercare, wiping your sloppy cunt with one side of the wet rag before folding it over to wipe away the blood on the side of your tummy. Under all that dried and sticky viscera was his name with a heart at the endâsurprisingly neat, pink, swollen at the edges, still stinging with every wipe. Although it was upside down and backwards from your perspective, you could tell it was going to be a very pretty scar. Now, you're permanently marked by him, your Frank. You stayed still when he put on the bandage and finally you brought yourself to rub away dried tears.
"That was..." You said softly. Frank moved around again, moving to cuddle you on the couch, pressed tightly to his near naked body, "Amazing."
"Good." Frank pressed a kiss to your temple, "Was thinkin' of doin' that for a while."
The adrenaline crash came about soon after. Frank held you in his arms and brought his attention back to the once forgotten TV. Every shift and breath you took had the bandage moving slightly. You could feel the fine hairs on your body being tugged every which way. Nothing new, though.
You hear a few clicks and comically cut off dialogue before the melodic intro of your favourite movie.
You hummed quietly and melted into Frankâs embrace whilst your racing heart slowed down. You didnât need to watch the opening scene anymore. You watched this movie more than a dozen times, it plays in your head. Surrounding by warmth and (twisted) love, you sigh into the sex-smelling air and flexed your fingers. You felt up tendons and veins, sweat slicked skin and fine hairs along your boyfriendâs body. He did the same, caressing your back, shoulders, and spine.
âWe can take a shower laterâŚâ Frankâs voice vibrated through your body.
You could hear the exhaustion creeping up on him and could feel your eyes start to weigh heavier over your reddened eyes.
âMhm.â You hummed back, lips grazing his skin until you decided upon a kiss.
Lazily, the both of you caressed the other, breathed in each otherâs scents, and softly kissed any and every exposed part of yourselves until you fell asleep. A day later, you noticed a new printed photo on the corkboard in Frank's bedroom. It was grainy and your skin looked several shades lighter from the flash, but you could see plainly the bright red carving; Frank's.
hope you liked it! first fic in some years... feel free to send in requests here on tumblr!
think i might invest in some dividers.. hmm.....
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Synopsis: Dbd killers with a visually impaired reader.
Characters: Frank Morrison, Hillbilly, Albert Wesker, Deathslinger, Trickster, Knight, Chucky, Jason Voorhees, Pyramid Head, Ghostface, Huntress, Michael Myers.
!!Warnings: Gn reader, unhealthy relationships, murder, obsessive behavior, psychological manipulation, act not too deep!!
A.n: Ughh I feel like I completely fucked this up, it's my first time writing for dbd and even though my mood was getting in the way I was stubborn enough to finish it lol.
Frank Morrison
At first remembering what a complete asshole he is, he'll make fun of you. He'll take your white cane, perform stupid acrobatic tricks with it, and tell you to look at him. "Ah right, my dumbass. You're blind." at this point he can even make fun of himself and his jokes genuinely aren't funny.
You can be sure he'll turn your matches into hell. At some point the disrespect Frank shows you will start spreading to the others too. And when he finds out about it, sorry but he won't be pleased. "You fucking legged idiots aren't ashamed of messing with a blind person!?" he says while running up and driving his knife into someone's back without even looking at who they are. "Pick on someone your own size!"
Frank definitely doesn't consider himself to be in the same category as them. He's an egotistical meathead. Now he'll act as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.
"How many?" he held up two fingers right in front of your face and waited for an answer. "But Frank, I can't seeâ" He cut you off without a second thought. He was stubborn as a mule. "Yeah, but that doesn't stop you using your brain."
Frowning, you threw out a number without thinking much about it. "One?" There was silence between the two of you. Frank lowered the middle finger he had been showing you and grunted. "No, it was five."
What more is there to say? He's a complete asshole, but a lovable asshole.
Hillbilly
Oh, poor baby. His mind is going to be so thoroughly scrambled. Because of the life he's lived, he's never met a blind person before. At first he'll simply assume youâre clumsy and, without giving it much thought, try to kill you just like he does everyone else. But later during a sudden collision between the two of you, instead of screaming in fear, you reach out and touch whatever you ran intoâMax's chest. Then with a small breath and hesitant uncertainty, you murmur "David?" and he just freezes.
His entire life, he'd been forced to endure disgusted stares crawling across his skin, he'd spent years fighting against screams that chased him as though they had a physical form of their own, but none of the pain he had ever experienced could have prepared him for this moment.
Not knowing what to do, he'll hurriedly leave. It won't take long for guilt to settle in after abandoning you there. He'll come back. Assuming you can't really get around on your own, he'll at least hope to guide you somewhere safe and keep you away from the carnage.
Of course, the moment he sees Leonâsomeone he already can't standâholding your hand and leading you toward the generators, his mood will sour very quickly.
Deciding to leave you and Leon alone for a while, he'll turn his attention toward another survivor. Hoping to put an end to the battle between his heart and his mind, he'll keep dragging his chainsaw through bone.
Albert Wesker
Wesker wasn't stupid. During a chase, he knew exactly what the stick you were holding in the distance was when he caught sight of it from the corner of his eye. To be honest, he couldnât help but feel a little curious in that moment. Was the Entity really cruel enough to bring a blind person here?
Still, this was Albert Wesker we were talking about. He never distinguished between the obstacles standing in the way of his victory. And you were no exception. Well, you were for a time...
You were far too kind. Not because you possessed a pure heart, but because you believed fighting with another person would gain you nothing. Perhaps that was why, despite the people who looked down on you and saw you as useless, you never used your blindness as a tool to turn your back on them. No, you caught even the smallest pained whimper like a hunter and continued helping others despite suffering yourself. And that fascinated him. He told himself it was nothing unusual. He had seen plenty of self sacrificing fools like that before, yet he could never stop himself from being drawn to you.
As he came to believe that you were remarkably intelligent and had interesting ideas, his interest in you became increasingly obvious. Which meant he would stop killing you. "Seven minutes...I'll give you only seven minutes." He said it while watching you study his face with eyes that couldn't see, unaware of the excitement shining within them after the familiarity built over such a long time.
If only you could have seen the savage hunger with which those bright eyes looked at you.
Caleb Quinn
One of Caleb's favorite things was targeting survivors from distances where he could truly show off his marksmanship. Naturally, that would make him notice you very quickly. When he aimed at you, instead of checking behind yourself, running and weaving back and forth like the others, he saw you trailing your hands along walls and finding your way through sound.
But the biggest thing that stopped Caleb was something else. The thing he knew best was the smell of helplessness.
He had faced strong opponents and exceptionally skilled ones, even the most dishonorable kinds, but never someone weak and without the chance to see. That went against his cowboy way too much. For a while he would simply watch you from afar, unsure of what to do with you.
Eventually, there would be times when he let you escape. There were moments when he not even allowed you to live during matches he was destined to lose. He tried not to cause unnecessary pain, and that applied not only to killing but to chases as well. While he hunted others directly with his rifle, he would usually take advantage of your condition and catch you with his hands instead.
He would never make you experience the pain of his harpoon even once, because shooting prey that couldn't properly run went against his cowboy pride.
Caleb never forgot what life had taken from him. Because of that, he wouldn't see your blindness as a 'flaw' but as 'one of life's dirty tricks played on you.' and with time, he would even start trying to have conversations with you.
Trickster
You're an insult to his existence. If someone were to come up and ask what he thought of you, he'd give a brief and straightforward answer. The Entity dragged this boring thing here to punish me.
To him, you're a loser. And as if not being able to see him wasn't enough, you're completely indifferent to his insults because you don't even know korean. "ě°ě§ě´." When he throws one of his knives at you from a record breaking distance while you're running around with the help of your cane, he'll call out after you like that.
His voice is so low and wild that it sounds less like an insult and more like a term of endearment. Ji-woon shouldn't lie to himself, but he absolutely enjoys messing with you. And much like the affection he once accepted from his fans, he'll gradually begin admitting to himself that he likes your presence too.
"ë ěě 루ě ěź" (You're a complete loser) As he says it, he'll sign one of his favorite cassette tapes and tuck it into the side of your pants. Ah and if despite not understanding his strange behavior, you approach him politely instead of rudely...Ji-woon will melt. As this sick obsession of his grows over time, he'll begin writing music for you. During matches, he'll always leave you for last and constantly make sure the generators don't get finished so he can spend plenty of time with you.
Eventually, Ji-woon will remember that not being able to see his perfection doesn't stop you from feeling it, and after gently taking hold of your wrists and placing kisses against your palms that tickle your skin, he'll bow his head slightly before you and guide your hands up to his face.
The Knight
He definitely won't pity you. The moment he finds you he'll take care of you without hesitation, sooner he's rid of you, the better. But somehow, he'll occasionally find himself absentmindedly watching you.
Knight had seen far too many things before. The wounded, maimed, countless people clinging to life in agony despite missing limbs or having their faces completely shattered..He shouldn't have been affected by it and yet, here he was.
Drawn toward the scent of blood, you had reached out to him by following the sounds he made. One hand clung to his arm while you held a medkit in the other, looking at him with quiet concern. You were pathetic enough to mistake him for an injured teammate because of the smell of blood. "Let me help you."
With a grunt from beneath his helmet, he grabbed you by the arm, then shifted his hold to your waist. Ignoring your startled cry and the frightened struggling that came with your sudden realization, he carried you to the hatch.
If we ignore the part where he tossed you into the darkness like a sack of shit, it was actually gentlemanly.
Chucky
"Oh my God, is this shit a gift for me? It isn't even my birthday!" After killing everyone else, Chucky shouted that toward the sky as if someone up there was listening while enjoying the pleasure of finally meeting the new survivor. Damn it, he's going to make fun of you so much that at some point you might genuinely start praying for him to kill you.
"Don't stare at me like that! AlthoughâŚyou don't actually know where you're looking, do you?" Chucky laughed mockingly at you as you stood with your back to the generator, struggling to figure out what was happening around you. He would constantly compare your helplessness to that of a newborn baby, yet he generally wouldn't touch the cane you needed so badly. No, alright maybe he'd take it sometimes but he'd genuinely try not to interfere with it too much. "Well, you can't do anything without that shited thing either, can you? I'm the same way," he said while stroking the knife in his hand as though it were something seductive. "It's as inseparable from me as my dick."
Don't really question Chucky and his philosophy on life. As much of a little shit as he is, he'd definitely look after you too. I mean, come on he's tiny and you're blind! What a great match, right? Sometimes he'd try to play games with you, games that wouldn't hurt you, of course. Things like hide and seek. "My god, you were made for this game, trust me!" he said while punching your leg in an attempt to reassure you. Though what happened a few minutes later didn't really support his words. Taking full advantage of your blindness, he'd practically run circles around your fingertips. "I'm over hereâŚno I'm over here! Look, follow my voiceâŚoops, you walked into a wall! Now that's a classic!"
But the strangest thing is that he'd let you carry him. "RUN AT THAT ASSHOLE! RUNNNN!" To Chucky, you were the body he needed and he was the only eyes you could ever have. How romanticâŚright?
Jason Voorhees
He learned that you were blind in the worst possible way, at the worst possible time. Jason still carried the fragility and anger born from the bullying he had endured throughout his life deep within his bones. And when he saw the bullying directed at you, he didn't stop to think not even for a moment. He shouldn't have cared, yet despite the command of his mother still echoing in his ears, he immediately strode toward you and without giving the person who had shoved you to the ground a chance to react, grabbed them by the throat and lifted them into the air. Bringing his machete down upon their chest with ruthless force, he would shatter their ribcage.
Behind him, he had already forgotten about you, crawling away from the screams on the ground while crying in fear and searching for your cane. In that moment the only thing he was focused on was the sack of flesh in his hands. With every blow he struck, he remembered the faces of those who had gotten away after what they had done to him. One day he would leave this place, find every last one of them and punish them.
But for now...he let the body in his grasp fall to the ground with a disgusting thud, as though it were nothing. Taking muffled breaths behind his mask, he would finally turn toward you. Without thinking much about it he'd walk over, pick up your cane lying far away from where you were on the ground, then grab you by the arm and haul you to your feet as if you were a rag doll. Ignoring your screams and pleas, he'd place the cane back into your hand and walk away.
He was a victim too, but he would never allow that number to grow.
Pyramid Head
In a single word, he couldn't find anything about you that deserved punishment. The moment he met your eyesâeyes that didn't even know where to look or move in their fearâhe lowered the massive sword in his hand.
And your hesitant "Hello?" in response to the deep, rasping breaths coming from him didn't help at all. You were completely unaware of the giant standing before you. He had come here to punish, yet all he could see in you was innocence.
Of course you would be terrified of him. He wasn't a caring or considerate giant. Him constantly grabbing you by the collar, holding your body to drag you somewhere, or forcing you into a seat after depositing you in a corner certainly didn't make things any easier. And that's not even mentioning the touches that left anything for privacy. Still you could see traces of kindness in him. Not only during your own matches with himâeven in matches with two killers, he wouldn't allow his partner to lay a finger on you.
He was incredibly possessive. The sound of metal grinding, which once made your heart pound so hard it felt ready to burst from your chest, had become a source of comfort. It was a sign that he was there and while he was there, no one could hurt you. Even friends whose company you missed couldn't get close to you. You had learned a long time ago in the worst way possible, that he would never tolerate anyone making contact with you.
He was very possessive, and all that really meant was getting used to the scent of metal stained with blood and rust.
Ghostface
"Baby, you're holding the flashlight wrong." you quickly turned toward the voice and pointed the flashlight in that direction, but it was no use. Looking at the flashlight aimed directly at his chest, Danny let out a deep sigh. God, you were exhausting. But just as unique. "Hey sweetheart, if you want to blind the killer, you have to point the light at the right place! My faceâ" the moment you lifted the flashlight toward the sky, he couldn't help but laugh.
"Damn, please don't do that Mr. Blindborn! I can't take on Batman!"
Danny was someone who always found a way to entertain himself, but you were something else entirely. A different kind of flavorâone that melted away on the tongue and left you thirsty, yet somehow made you want more. Danny preferred having control no matter the situation. And what he liked about your blindness was how, sooner or later it could leave you dependent on someone. A lovely little sheep dependent on his guidance.
Of course, he killed you in the beginning. He savored every scream he managed to draw from you. He enjoyed making you hate him, making you fear him, making you become wary of the feeling of being watched that you had grown so used to. And in the end, somehow he made you come back to his arms. He paid no mind to your trembling or your struggles within the tight, warm embrace that surrounded you. He simply locked your bodies together as though the two of you had been lovers since the dawn of the world itself.
To him, this wasn't an unhealthy obsession. No, this was love itselfâthing he had never thought he would get to experience. And Danny was starving for it.
Huntress
Ah, you poor baby...that was what flowed from the depths of Anna's mind the thoughts no one ever cared to wonder aboutâwhen she first saw you. It's difficult to say what Anna truly thought of you but one thing was certain, it wasn't healthy. Your first match was filled with the terror brought by her dreadful hatchet. Poor you, having only just recognized the sound of it voice, you looked like a dying fawn when the hatchet buried itself into your body.
And this triggered something in her, something powerful enough to overshadow even her desire to kill. You weren't something that needed to be removedâno, you needed to be protected. That was why life had brought you to this cruel, miserable pit. One truth of this place was that pain was inevitable, but whenever you were by Anna's side, she never allowed pain to come near you.
She took your face between her calloused hands, stroked your skin and brushed her fingers over the eyelids of those beautiful eyes that knew nothing of the world around them. She hummed the only lullabies her mother had left behind for her. It didn't matter if you couldn't understand them, her love recognized no language barrier.
Michael Myers
While chasing Laurie, he almost had a heart attack when you suddenly stepped out from around a cornerâif that had even been possible. Without thinking, he would have turned you by the shoulder and driven his knife into you. But then he noticed. Michael was a very observant person; it was simply one of the advantages of being a hunter. He saw the dullness in your eyes, that lack of recognition, almost immediately.
It was a sight he had never seen before. Even people who knew nothing about him would look at him strangely or with concern. But not you. Not with the same indifference you carried.
He swiftly raised the knife until its tip hovered before your eye and waited. Yet the scream and expression of terror he wanted so badly never came. It sent a note of discomfort through his body. Michael wasn't used to not being feared. And he would never, the person hesitantly touched by someone trying to understand the owner of the hand gripping them tightly, letting out a startled breath. He shoved you away harshly.
Without caring that you had fallen, he left. But that would not be your last encounter. And the more often a blow lands, the more it wears away whatever stands before it.
